Dreams, drawings and psychoanalytic fun

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1. I had a little kitten, mostly black with some white. It was playing in the garden when I noticed there was a huge, fierce-faced buzzard perching just feet away. * “Shit,” I thought, “do buzzards eat cats? Or is it cats that eat buzzards?” I brought the kitten in, just to be safe.

* I did see some buzzards the other day, whilst driving (or being driven, rather) down a country road. They were perching in low trees, close enough that I could see their faces and know they meant business. Come to think of it, K and I were talking about dreams at the time, and I interjected to say that buzzards in the trees represented not giving a fuck.

There was also a tiny muntjac deer, grazing by the side of the road. When I told one of my housemates, she claimed sincerely that she’d dreamt of a muntjac deer the night before!

2. My therapist was seriously – maybe terminally – ill, and I was looking after his cat.

Trying to extricate myself from a dangerous cult, they trying to re-kidnap me. The house I was living / hiding in looks a bit like my uncle’s (dad’s brother-in-law’s). My mum was helping protect me; we fought off the intruders from the cult by throwing handbags at them. Mum hefted handbags down the hallway at them, while I, halfway upstairs, pitched more over the bannisters, and Tiggy (the family cat, circa 2001-2007) ran around helping in the ways that only cats can.

Temporarily living back with my parents, I was walking around the perimeter of their cul-de-sac. Rural cul-de-sacs are not like urban ones; they are surrounded not by other streets and houses but by fields and long-distance A-roads. A madwoman had started trespassing in my parents’ garden. She shouted at me as I walked past, wanting me to entertain her with my company, and getting aggressive when I didn’t stop to talk.

Later that week, she stole one of my Mum’s fabric aprons from the kitchen and disappeared it into the garden. When Mum demanded it back, the madwoman returned it sure enough, rolled up into a tight ball. Our two cats, one black-and-white and one tabby, were investigating the scene, the fur on their backs twitching with displeasure.

We unrolled the apron with a sense of dread, which turned out to be well-founded as the bundle contained a large quantity of the woman’s own semi-liquid shit. I don’t often have lucid dreams where I can control the outcome, but on this occasion my subconscious intervened and said that’s just too disgusting. At least make it solid. So I viewed the exact same scene again, this time with firmer stools in the apron, which may have been slight consolation to my Dad who had to dispose of them.

Writing a novel; I can’t remember what it was about, but I sure remember the self-doubt, wondering if what I was putting out there was at all interesting or just self-indulgent.

Carelessly splashed some water on the bathroom floor (while brushing my teeth?) and one of my housemates pointedly remarked – in front of the whole household – on how he’d had to dry it up.

A different male friend (not the one in previous fragments) was hoping for a relationship with me. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, wondering with guilt if I’d led him on.

In reality, I was staying at Sibling and C’s house. In dream, we were all staying at C’s mother M’s house (this being the first time I’d met M; in reality, I’ve never met her). Based on strange goings on, Sibling, C and I reached the conclusion that M had murdered someone. Not for the first time, said Sibling and C. We tried to excuse ourselves by going for a curry, to discuss how to turn M in or at least avoid being murdered ourselves. But the curry house was full of people we knew, and because we didn’t know how to explain wanting to sit separately from them, we ended up at a table with three or four others. As we were eating, a helicopter descended and M arrived with an entourage of security staff. Back in the downstairs hallway, we got into a brawl and she threatened me with some kind of weapon (not a gun… a knife? a club?).

… possibly woken up by one of the cats, in reality, jumping on the bed. When I told Sibling about the dream over breakfast, he said that nothing of the sort would ever happen; apparently M loves curry so we’d never have made it to the nearest balti house without her.